


Twelfth Wright

by glacialphoenix



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney, Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Crossover, Gift Fic, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacialphoenix/pseuds/glacialphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift fic; Shakespeare's Twelfth Night loosely retold with the characters from Ace Attorney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

SCENE ONE : In which Duke ~~Orsino~~ Phoenix pines for the love of the cold-as-ice ~~Olivia~~ Franziska. 

Duke Phoenix runs his hand through his hair, tugging his spikes back into place, and stretches out languidly in the attitude of a man dying of lovesickness. 

Men dying of lovesickness usually wallow in the depths of poetic muck, and Phoenix is no exception. 

That his talent for composing lyrical declarations of love is a tad lacking … well, that is also no exception. 

“If music be the food of love,” he begins, grandiose and majestic, and falters, briefly - “play on…” Metaphors fail him, and he turns to his faithful courtier Charley, who’s looking a little bit green, like always. “What did you think, Charley?” 

Charley is silent and accusing, like always, and Phoenix remembers that in his case, music is more likely to be the food of discord; the only thing he’d ever learnt to play was a fiddly little harpsichord that was just off-tune enough to irritate everyone in range. He was barred from playing it after his first proud performance of Chopsticks. 

(Note to self: don’t come up with any more musical metaphors.) 

So, well, there goes that idea, right out the equally metaphorical window. 

“So how is she?” he asks Charley. “How is the beautiful Countess Franzisk -aaaaaaaaaaaargh!” 

The beautiful Countess Franziska always seems to know exactly where a man is, and her answer is clear: 

“Only foolish fools are too foolish to know that they should not foolishly strive after a love that they should not pursue! You will desist from pining over me, Phoenix Wright! It is annoying.” 

(Only four fools? She’s losing her touch.) 

She leaves with a final crack of her whip. Phoenix wonders how she always seems to know exactly when he’s monologuing at Charley about her, when the answer occurs to him. 

It’s terribly simple, now he thinks of it. 

Charley is a plant. 

 

SCENE II: In which the lovely ~~Viola~~ Edgeworth lands upon the shores of ~~Illyria~~ Los Japangeles. 

Miles Edgeworth adjusts his cravat, brushing it off fastidiously. Professionalism is very important, even in the midst of a plane crash. Thankfully, it was a private jet; there are no other passengers to worry about, and he appears to have come out of it looking entirely unruffled. 

Except for the cravat, of course. 

“Where are we?” he asks the pilot, who shrinks back, trying to hide the fact that he’s just made the sign to ward off the evil eye. 

“Los Japangeles, Mr. Edgeworth.” 

Edgeworth tilts his head slightly, waiting for further information. 

“Uh … there’s a Duke Phoenix here, and a Countess Franziska. He pines over her, and she lashes out at him.” 

Duke Phoenix sounds like a dog, Edgeworth thinks, and then the name hits him. “Duke Phoenix Wright?” 

“Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. Absolutely Wrig - uh, right. Are you acquainted with him, sir?” 

Edgeworth waves a hand dismissively. “Acquainted, yes. I believe I shall pay Wright a visit now, and see if I cannot occupy his mind with things of a less frivolous nature.” 

The pilot is a little too scared to disagree. 

 

SCENE III: In which everyone knows when Countess Franziska objects to a suitor. 

Maya, channeler extraordinaire (nobody knows where she channels the vast amounts of food she devours), counts the number of times the Countess Franziska screams the word ‘fool’, listens for the sound of her cracking her whip, and watches the definitely-rejected suitor scurry away dejectedly.

Huh. That was one less ‘fool’ than the previous one. 

Gumshoe owes her a burger treat. 

 

SCENE IV: In which Edgeworth is Favoured Muchly (though not that way, you filthy-minded perverts)

Phoenix finds himself spending a great deal of time with Edgeworth, perhaps more than is strictly necessary. 

The place has become far noisier since Edgeworth turned up - it’s only been three days, and their relationship is progressing fast. Maybe Phoenix has just been repressed all this while. (At least, so Charley thinks.) It’s OK, though: Edgeworth’s company is nothing short of fantastic, and Phoenix enjoys every moment of it.

“Wright,” Edgeworth snaps, “kindly desist from making any more pathetic attempts at verse.” 

Phoenix throws himself back over his favourite couch. “Just give me credit for trying, Edgeworth,” he protests. “For once.”

“You can have an E for effort,” Edgeworth mutters. 

“Don’t be a miser.” 

“The literary arts are most definitely not your forte, Wright.” 

Phoenix unstoppers a fresh bottle of ink just to irritate Edgeworth, and screws up his face at the colour. Magenta. (Note to self: do not let Edgeworth purchase ink in the near future.) He dips the quill in, begins to write - and gets magenta ink on himself. 

Edgeworth sighs. “Were you not taught how to write as a child?” he demands, impatiently. 

“I wasn’t,” Phoenix says, affably. “I was born knowing how to Wright.” 

Edgeworth’s face greets his palm, and not for the first time. 

“Hey, Edgeworth,” Phoenix says, suddenly sober. “I was hoping… could you do me a favour?” 

“What is it, Wright?” 

“You’re better at the whole… classy thing than me,” Phoenix says, with a helpless shrug. “I… could you send a message to Countess Franziska, for me?” 

“I would prefer not to be seen delivering your sorry excuses for love sonnets.” 

And then Phoenix’s eyes go big and wide, all puppy-dog pleading; Edgeworth caves. 

Anything to stop Wright looking so damn ridiculous. 

 

SCENE V: In which we no longer wait for Godot, who is not foolish but who is most certainly a Fool 

Franziska does not arrive with Gumshoe so much as she practically shoves the poor sap in front of her. He’s almost twice as big, and he’s still shaking in his shoes. Well, she does control his pay, after all, and then there’s that whip. 

“You!” she snaps at the person already leaning casually against a wall. “I told you, fool, I never wanted to see you again!” 

“Ah, Filly.” He gulps down coffee - blend #98 - a little too acidic - and ignores her. “If music is the food of love,” he muses, “coffee is the drink of passion.” 

He refuses to elaborate on his remark beyond “Trite was trying to expand on his poetry repertoire.” 

Franziska scowls. 

“Dark as a moonless night,” he continues, thoughtfully. “Bitter as defeat. This, Filly, is pure black magic.” 

He downs the rest of the mug and leaves abruptly. 

Gumshoe suffers for it, of course. 

 

SCENE VI: In which Edgeworth talks to Franziska

The women are all stealing surreptitious glances at Edgeworth, who is, thankfully, quite oblivious, or he would have marched back and told Phoenix to make his plea himself. As it stands he’s already more than a little uncomfortable when Franziska gives his cravat a thoughtful look and says, “Miles Edgeworth. Where is the foolish Phoenix Wright?” 

The countess Franziska has a terribly impertinent habit of calling everyone by their full names. It perturbs most people, except the sorry-looking Gumshoe… As far as the Countess is concerned, Gumshoe doesn’t warrant a name. 

“Indisposed,” he returns, coolly. “I am here to play messenger in his stead.” 

“Hah!” she scoffs. “So the great Phoenix Wright gets another to do his dirty work for him. Nevertheless, I shall listen - if it is not in foolish, badly composed poetry.” 

Edgeworth barely manages not to laugh. _I told you those sonnets were a bad idea, Wright._ “No,” he says, at last. “Only that he pines after you most terribly.” 

Franziska tilts her head dismissively. “Is that so. How foolish.” 

Edgeworth nods. 

“Well then,” she says, “is that all?” 

“For now.” 

“I might perhaps accept more foolish messages from the fool Phoenix Wright… if you foolishly persist in their foolish delivery, Miles Edgeworth.” 

Edgeworth isn’t sure he knows what to make of that.


	2. Chapter 2

ACT TWO

SCENE I: In which Phoenix turns his masterful artistic abilities from sonnets to music, to the despair of everyone’s ears.

“Yesterday’s jazz performance was great,” Phoenix opines, in top-notch couch-potato form. “I liked the song about coffee. There was a rather large contradiction there, though.”

Edgeworth raises one doubtful eyebrow.

“Coffee contains caffeine, which wakes you up. A song about it shouldn’t send you to sleep.”

Of course, the composer is notorious for his java addiction, and the whole piece is essentially a slow love ballad to coffee. The programme has the composer’s comments on each piece, and this particular one is  _"dark and rich like finest roast."_ Phoenix prefers not to appear a philistine, and so does not mention to Edgeworth that ‘finest roast’ puts him more in mind of turkey than of coffee blends.

“Learn to read, Wright. The song is about the fragrance of coffee.”

Phoenix sighs and rolls off the very comfortable couch. “I decided to stop composing sonnets.”

“Not a moment too soon.”

“What do you think of this, though?”

Edgeworth had briefly forgotten, for a few blissful days, that there was a grand piano in the room. It is a beautiful thing, and certainly does not deserve the torture inflicted on it by one Phoenix Wright.

“Your music is an affront to the senses. Tell me that was not a variant on Chopsticks.”

“Actually…”

“As I suspected. Learn to play something else, Wright.”

Phoenix isn’t, in actual fact, a particularly big fan of classical music. As a result, his repertoire is sadly lacking. Edgeworth vetoes suggestions of piano renditions of various movie theme songs ( “The theme song from  _Catastrophe_  is not acceptable, Wright.”), a couple of fairly popular, well-known tunes ( “Have you yet to realise that the song is about a stalker, Wright? I sincerely hope you are not at that stage.”) and - well, that last piece? Honestly quite unrecognisable. Not that it truly makes any difference. Anything Phoenix plays would be rendered unrecognisable within seconds.

“Better yet,” Edgeworth finishes, “spare us all the agony of listening to you.”

He’s discovered that Phoenix isn’t particularly unintelligent when he’s not engaged in deep contemplations of the fiery agonies of true love. Mention romance to him, though, and the man turns into a soppy pile of mush. Incredibly untalented mush with a level of idiocy approaching that of the Butz.

“Edgeworth, what’s your idea of the perfect woman?”

…As said. Edgeworth doesn’t really have an answer - for one thing, he’s not interested in women. So he shrugs and gives Phoenix a knowing smile. “Perfect.”

“You’re dodging the question. How old is she?”

Edgeworth makes a dismissive gesture. “Around your age.” Which is to say, their age, but sometimes Edgeworth feels like he’s twenty-four, going on fifty, while Phoenix seems to be stuck forever at maybe eighteen. If he’s feeling generous.

“Huh.” Phoenix relaxes. “Makes sense, I guess.” He stretches. “What’s her personality like?”

“I fail to see the point of this cross-examination.”

“It’s only fair. You’ve been playing messenger, and I don’t even know what kind of woman you like.” He scrutinizes Edgeworth, thoughtfully. “You keep dodging the question. Unless you don’t like women?”

Edgeworth has found out, over the last few days, that Phoenix is capable of horrifyingly accurate leaps of logic out of seemingly nowhere - usually at the worst possible moments.

“I don’t,” he grudgingly admits.

“Then what kind of -”

“My work is paramount, Wright.”

Phoenix makes a sort of disappointed sigh, and doesn’t pursue the topic any more. Still, Edgeworth doesn’t really want to stick around for more interrogation, so he reluctantly offers: “I’ll bring a message to the Countess Franziska, if you wish.”

“You would? Thanks, Edgeworth!”

Edgeworth glances at the sheaf of papers Phoenix hands him - it’s one of Phoenix’s … compositions. With lyrics. He resolves to run it through a shredder and into the nearest recycling bin as soon as he gets sufficiently far away from here.

SCENE II: In which we discover that Larry Butz is, yet again, in love.

Larry “The name’s Laurice!” Butz, despair of the world’s collective sanity, is the member of the Countess Franziska’s staff nobody mentions. Edgeworth has long been acquainted (unfortunately) with the man in question, and has never actually exited a face-to-face meeting with him without pondering the possibility that the average IQ of the world would actually go up upon Larry’s death. Phoenix, in a surprising reference to the high school chemistry books he never actually studied, once wondered if intellectual osmosis had actually occurred.

Larry had, of course, completely missed the snark then.

The other thing about Larry is that he is magnificently capable of falling in love with almost every lady in sight.

…All right, so that was a lie. There’s a third thing about Larry: that, apropos to his name, he is indeed the butt of several jokes.

It’s just something about Larry.

Larry has, in fact, just received a mysterious letter, addressed to him:

** Laurice Deauxnim **

He’s charmed: not many people consent to use his artistic name, though it’s far more eloquent and erudite-sounding than plain old Larry Butz, Portrait Painter (When He’s Got A Free Moment.) At least, he likes to think he’s a portrait painter, somewhere in the murky depths of his soul. Officially, he’s a security guard at the von Karma estate. It doesn’t pay well, but he gets to bathe in Franziska’s radiant beauty.

Phoenix would have agreed. Edgeworth would have facepalmed.

Maya, crouching behind a hastily-constructed pile of cardboard boxes, stifles a snigger.

_This foolish love is pure foolishness. It is only foolishness, that foolish art perfected by foolish artists, that has led me to foolishly pen this foolish letter._

Larry crumples the notepaper in his excitement, crushing it before hastily smoothing the paper back out again. “It’s me, isn’t it? Foolish artists…”

Maya has never seen a person quite so happy to be called a foolish artist before.

“I could get her to model for my next picture book, Franzy’s Whiplash Splash!”

_Should you consent to this… foolishness, then… wear yellow socks next we meet._

_\- Foolishly in Love_

“Yellow socks!” Larry cheers. “I knew they’d attract the ladies!”

Well, now Maya knows why he bought that horrible neon yellow pair of monstrosities.

_P.S. It is perhaps foolish of me to say, but you look most charming in stripes and plaids and argyles, foolish though this might sound…_

“Anything for you, Franzy!”

_…also, you bear a most foolishly adorable look when you wrinkle your nose._

Maya has to cover her mouth to stifle her giggles when Larry starts practising his nose-wrinkling.


End file.
